


The Castrato

by LSeale



Category: Original Work
Genre: Castration, Collars, Crying, Hand Feeding, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Muzzles, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Objectification, Overstimulation, Piercings, Power Imbalance, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Sexual Slavery, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSeale/pseuds/LSeale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual pleasure slave is purchased from the market, and his new master takes his virginity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Castrato

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for specific content warnings.

Summer noon made the market nearly too hot to bear, beating down so fiercely that even under feet of mud-brick roofs, sweat still rolled down Jibran's neck and underneath the loose layers of his robe. The slave market was subdued from its usual fervor by the heat. Auction criers' voices were feebler, the slaves harder to rouse, and the buyers lethargic.

Jibran intended to take advantage of that. Days like this were the most promising for acquiring unique, normally expensive slaves at a bargain. He strolled along the dimly lit rows of slave pens, eyes skipping over the female slaves. His wife was all the female company he could handle, and aside from their dutiful couplings in the right phases of her moon cycle to produce children, Jibran wanted nothing more to do with the womanly form. He also walked past the whole male slaves, those intended for the fighting pits or the fields, without a second glance. A man of his station could not bed other men of his own rank, much less stoop to a pit slave.

His steps slowed when he came to the pens meant for male pleasure slaves. It was rare the auction had anything to attract him, and rarer that the slave who caught his eye had not been thoroughly broken and made uninteresting, but perhaps luck would be with him today.

A flash of pale skin caught Jibran's eye, and he slowed. The boy was in a pen by himself, hunched over with his arms around his knees, face turned away from the buyers wending their way through the cages. He was a northerner, his skin creamy and dusted with speckles like cinnamon spilled across his shoulders. His hair was dirty, a wild mop of fine strands that glinted in the light of the lanterns. Jibran wondered what color it would be if the boy were clean.

When Jibran wrested his attention away from the boy, he knew he'd lingered too long. The shrewd slaver had seen him staring in interest, and now stepped out from behind the line of cages. Rings glinted on his fingers, and when he smiled at Jibran, one of his canine teeth flashed gold. "Interested in my exotic stock, good sir?"

The boy's shoulders tensed. It was the first sign Jibran had seen that he'd been paying attention to the proceedings. "What's his provenance?"

"No fresh-caught merchandise passes through my hands," the slaver bragged. "Only born slaves, bred from the finest stock. This one's dam had hair red as a dark wine, a bed slave to a wealthy merchant. His sire was a pit fighter from the coldest northern regions, white as pure sand in coloring, near undefeated in the ring."

It was a prodigious pedigree, which made Jibran's gaze sharpen on the boy in the pen. He wasn't being kept like a prize. Instead, he was dirty and sullen like he'd been recently won in battle. "What flaw sends him here, instead of the high street slave markets where a creature of that blood belongs?" Jibran asked the question in a mild voice, knowing he was casting aspersions on the merchant's wares.

The slaver's smile grew forced. "The midwife swore he would be a girl, when he was still in the womb. The purchase contract was for a fair girl child with red hair. Then this whelp comes out with a cock, and his coloring washed out besides. He was for the pits, but he is a horrendous fighter. He would have been skewered in the first advance. No sport in it, and definitely no purse."

Jibran looked with new interest at the slave. "He's newly gelded?"

"Only a few months since he was cut," the slaver confirmed.

Jibran chewed thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek, considering the slender, pale line of the slave's back, the smattering of freckles, the ambiguously colored shine of his hair. He could show promise, or he could be recalcitrant to the point of being useless.

"What color are his eyes?"

The slaver perked up again, sensing that the sale was not yet lost. "Green, good sir. Like the palest jade from the far east, or the opening of new spring leaves."

"Bring him out." Jibran kept his voice cool, trying to maintain his disinterest. The slaver obviously had not expected anyone to show interest in his misbegotten whelp, but a potential buyer with Jibran's assurance and fine clothing was a boon. Jibran would be able to acquire this slave at a reasonable price, given those factors, and the slaver would walk away feeling he had won as well.

The slaver opened the pen from the back, closest to the slave, seizing his collar before the boy could pull away. The boy was skinny, his ribs pronounced - it was obvious he hadn't been cared for well. He tried to wrench away from the slaver's grip on his collar and made an angry, muffled noise - Jibran only now saw the muzzle over his mouth and lower jaw.

The boy's struggles were weak from being made to kneel for hours in the heat of the slave pens. Jibran's personal estimation of the slaver fell. Even if the boy hadn't turned out the way he was meant, he still had value as a piece of merchandise, and the slaver's treatment of him only impacted that value.

The slaver hauled the boy over to one of the viewing platforms, directly underneath a skylight. The natural light made it easier to examine the slaves, and Jibran stepped up to it despite the sweltering heat of the sun.

Jibran closed his fingers around the soft brown leather of the muzzle, forcing the boy's face up. His delicate build was deceiving - Jibran could only call him a young man, now that he got a closer look at the definition of his jaw. He had been cut late, which meant more development of his shoulders than was usually found in a castrato. More height as well - he was only a few inches shorter than Jibran himself, the top of his head level with Jibran's jaw. Whether that was a result of the gelding or poor feeding as a youngster was uncertain. Jibran had seen how tall the northerners got if they were left to their own devices.

He hadn't expected the boy to be unblemished, not with his history, but was gratified to find no major disfiguring scars. It seemed the end of his career in the pits had come from a lack of talent, as the slaver said, not from taking a debilitating wound. His limbs were straight and whole, his back straight, and aside from a few fine scars, Jibran could find no flaws. The slave's back and thighs had not been lashed, no poorly-healed welts to detract from his beauty.

His hair shone in the sun, just as Jibran knew it would. He fished out a handkerchief and dusted some of the dirt from the slave's hair, uncovering a brassy red-gold color, almost like copper. It wasn't the deep red the slaver had described in the boy's dam - it looked like that red had mixed with the pale hair of the boy's sire to produce this unique, brilliant color. It complemented the dense patch of cinnamon freckles over the boy's nose and cheeks, trailing down the back of his neck to his shoulders and the tops of his arms.

It was his eyes that were the most arresting feature. They were a clear, pale green, large in his face, and he stared at Jibran's chin blankly. Jibran could see a clench in his jaw above the muzzle. He briefly considered asking the slaver to remove it, but reconsidered - any smart talk would have to be punished, and Jibran found the methods the slavers used to be distasteful at best. "Does he have all his teeth?"

"Indeed, good sir. We can have them removed, if you'd like-"

"No, thank you." Jibran lifted the slave's chin, inspecting the line of skin under his heavy steel collar for sores or collar scarring. Some men preferred to have their pleasure slaves toothless, but Jibran had never taken to the practice. Training a slave to properly give him pleasure was a large part of the appeal.

He reached out and lifted the slave's soft, small cock. The slave gasped and flinched against the grip on his chin, but Jibran only firmed it, holding him in place. With the slave's cock out of the way, Jibran slipped two fingers back behind, feeling along the castration scar for any sign of poor healing or pain. The skin there was smooth and soft. Whatever the slaver's other flaws, he hired a proper surgeon for the gelding.

Jibran's touch made the slave's face turn the most gorgeous shade of red, a color that spilled along the path of his freckles and down the creamy pale expanse of his chest. Jibran slid his fingers along the slave's perineum, touching them to his hole. The slave closed his eyes tight, breathing rapid in distress. "Has he been trained as a pleasure slave?"

"Not for men, good sir," the slaver said, watching Jibran's handling of his merchandise with greedy eyes. "I thought to sell him as a bower servant. Women seem to enjoy the muted coloration. Most men's tastes are... more bold."

Jibran privately thought the slave would look incredible in gold, slim chains dripping from around his neck to his wrists and ankles, slithering along his pale skin. "And you watch your gladiators closely enough that there's no chance his virginity has been compromised?"

"The training pens are always monitored. Never know when one of them might prove more useful in a bed than in the ring." The slaver nodded to the boy. "He's untouched."

Jibran finally let go of the slave's chin. "Why the muzzle?"

The slaver made a face. "This one always has been impudent. I would cut out his tongue, but he'd be even more useless without it than he already is."

"How old?"

"Eighteen, good sir. Old for a man's slave."

Jibran hummed thoughtfully. "Not for my bed." The slave's eyes went wide and his throat bobbed in a harsh swallow. "How much?"

The slaver named a figure, which Jibran outright laughed at. He kept half an eye on the slave as he negotiated, his fingers trailing absently along the pale, unmarked skin. The young thing's hands curled into fists, his head drooped until his eyes were fixed on the straw beneath his bare feet, that red flush of shame still painted on his skin. He still looked too skinny, to Jibran's eye, but it was worth the purchase, with him untouched and older and better-built than most bed slaves of the same age.

And those eyes - those pale green eyes fueled Jibran's lust every time they cut his way.

He settled for a price that satisfied them both - the slaver seemed pleased, so it was obviously higher than he'd expected, and Jibran felt it a bargain compared to what he would have paid upmarket. Jibran clipped his own lead to the slave's collar, winding it around his wrist as he counted coin out of his purse. The slave's head stayed bowed, his brow wrinkled. Jibran caught a flash of green as the slave glanced at him beneath pale lashes.

"Good fortune to you, sir. A unique purchase, to be sure."

Jibran accepted the slaver's gracious bow with a nod of his head, holding out his hand for the slaver to drop the key to the boy's collar into it. He tugged on the leash, and the slave's eyes flew up to him, disbelief written over every inch of his face. Jibran could see something mulish in the tight set of his jaw behind the muzzle.

Jibran wrapped the leash around his hand until he could hook three fingers under the slave's collar and yank, pulling the slave's head down against his shoulder. The slave's hands came up and he made a startled sound behind his muzzle, trying to tug his face away, but his training at least held enough that he didn't touch Jibran without permission.

"Don't embarrass yourself, or me, by petty acts of rebellion in the slave market." His mouth was pressed close to the slave's ear, his breath washing over the pale neck. Jibran watched him flush red down the line of his freckles again. He lowered his voice. "That idiot didn't see any worth in you. I do, and I will treat you accordingly. You'll be fed, you'll be bathed, and you'll be kept well in my household. My wife is fond of doting on my slaves."

The boy's rapid breathing slowed somewhat as Jibran's words seemed to penetrate the wall of panic in his mind. "That's it. That's right. If you're good for me, your life will be comfortable, and you may even enjoy yourself. You were bred to this, remember."

The slave made a harsh sound through his nose, like a despairing sigh. When Jibran pulled away, his head was downcast, but he made no attempt to resist when Jibran pulled on the leash once more, leading him to the antechamber of the slave markets.

"Your coloring is too pale to be nude," Jibran said. He passed a thumb over the freckled line of the slave's shoulder. In the better light of the antechamber, he could see it wasn't only the boy's blush that pinked the skin. He needed to be covered for the trip back to Jibran's estate.

It seemed to surprise the slave, to be given clothing. He dressed quickly, swallowed up in Jibran's spare robe. He held still and for Jibran to arrange the hood over his head, protecting his face and fair skin from the desert sun. "Come, then," Jibran said. "When we reach the estate, you will be bathed and fed. Then we shall see if you are worth what I paid."

That made the slave's green eyes fix on him again, helplessly wide above the brown leather of the muzzle. Jibran tugged at the leash, and the slave stumbled after him, hands twisting restlessly in the too-long sleeves of his robe.

Jibran's chariot was waiting, and the driver looked at the new slave with curiosity as Jibran pulled him up into it. "Fruitful day at auction, master?"

"I believe so," Jibran said. He laid his hand on the nape of the slave's neck, above his collar, and exerted a small amount of pressure. He was curious to see what kind of training the slave had - an uncertain course from birth, neither consigned to the pleasure houses or a certain purchase for the fighting pits, would mean for an unevenly trained slave. He at least knew this signal, folding down to his knees beside Jibran in the chariot and laying his face against Jibran's thigh. "Yes, I do think today's purchase will be a success."

The estate was north of the markets, in the high district. The city itself wound up a low rise to the banks of the oasis, with the poorer districts at the bottom and the wealthy's homes leading to the temple at the hilltop. They passed the upper market, where this new purchase might have been bound if his destiny were more certain at birth.

Jibran slid his hand into slave's robe, stroking idly along his shoulder blades, the line of his collarbone, and the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It had struck Jibran in the slave market, but especially folded down like this and in the overlarge robe, the slave looked somewhat gangly, his elbows a little too sharp and his torso a little too long. It did emphasize the line of his neck, and Jibran cast his mind on the picture the slave would make spread out beneath him in his chamber. He didn't spare a glance at the auction houses on either side of the road, where higher priced slaves with true courtesan training would have cost him double, if not triple the price he'd paid downmarket.

Jibran and his wife held lands outside the city, date orchards which brought income to their estate, but they were fashionable people, and both would rather live close to civilization and all its pursuits. The chariot rattled up the hill, away from the market districts, through a swath of small merchant holdings and public gardens. The slave stayed where he had been put, hands resting on the bottom of the chariot and forehead pillowed on Jibran's thigh. He seemed content with the position for now - perhaps grateful for the clothes, or for being able to ride in the chariot instead of being made to run alongside. Or both.

They arrived at Jibran's estate, the gates opening to allow them through, and when the chariot finally drew to a halt, Jibran was gratified to see that the slave didn't move until he tugged at the leash, prompting the boy to raise his head from Jibran's lap. Two servants approached as he drew the slave up from his knees. "Have a perfumed bath drawn in my private chambers, and a selection of decoration suitable for a slave of copper or gold coloring laid out. Green accents. I wish for a meal to be prepared as well, suitable for hand-feeding, held until I send for it. And call the surgeon."

"It will be done, master." The servants turned and left, and Jibran tugged the slave along by the leash. The courtyard of his estate was line with acacia trees, shaded from the worst of the sun, and the interior of white stone and mosaic kept it cooler than the slave auction by far. Jibran strode through the hallways, lined with shallow pools fed from the oasis that further cooled the air. His private chamber was near the rear of the estate, while his wife's chambers took up most of the estate's sprawling second story. When the slave was not in his chamber, he would quarter with the rest of Jibran's bed slaves, sequestered from the rest of the household.

Jibran pulled his slave through the door of his chambers. The bed was the largest feature, in the center of the room and richly upholstered with silk and brocade. Light came from narrow windows along top of the wall behind the bed, the minimal glass serving to keep the bedchamber cool. The bathing room was small and offset from the bedchamber, with a tub big enough for two. Jibran let the slave look around, taking in his surroundings, but didn't give him too much time to think. "Disrobe," he said, dropping the leash.

The slave looked up at him, green eyes shadowed under the hood. That stubborn spark was back in his expression, and he made no move to obey, his hands twisted in the sleeves of the robe like he was hiding behind it. This seemed more like testing the waters than true rebellion, and Jibran raised an unimpressed eyebrow, staring the slave down. He had promised the boy comfort in exchange for obedience. If he was fool enough to reject that, he wasn't worth the trouble.

The moment stretched between them, Jibran making no motion to force the slave into compliance or threaten punishment. He was a patient man, and he could wait out the slave's hesitance indefinitely as long as it was simply hesitance, not resistance. Finally, the slave dropped his eyes back to the floor and huffed out another resigned sigh from behind his muzzle. His hands shook as he did what he'd been told, drawing the hood back and slowly stripping out of the robe until he was nude again. His body was still covered in dirt from the slave market, and his knees were reddened from his trip in the chariot. Jibran picked up the end of the leash again and tugged him closer, bending to run his hand down the slave's thigh, rubbing over the knee cap. "Did you bruise?"

A nod - the slave still had not removed his muzzle. Jibran rose to his feet and reached behind the slave's head, swiftly unbuckling the soft leather and drawing the muzzle away. The slave's lips were pink and chapped, parted in surprise, that strange look of confusion creeping back into his green eyes.

"The slaver told me the muzzle was for your smart mouth," Jibran said. He took the slave's jaw in his hand, brushing his thumb over the slave's lips. "I prefer you with a tongue, but I won't tolerate insolence."

The slave swallowed hard. Until now, Jibran had been careful to be gentle and undemanding, to show the slave how good his life could be if he cooperated. Now he showed the steel of his resolve. "Yes, master," he whispered.

"What are you called, boy?"

Confusion again. The slave's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "My dam named me Calum."

"Calum," Jibran tested the name out on his tongue. "A noble name."

"She had high hopes for me," Calum said dryly - then bit his lip, ducking his head. Jibran watched how his shoulders hunched. Was that the loose tongue the slaver had mentioned? Jibran had expected disrespect, perhaps even vulgarity. This seemed more like poor discipline and a mind that moved too quick for Calum's own good. That was encouraging - it could be more easily corrected than outright defiance.

The servants entered with the bathwater and Jibran tugged Calum along into the bathing chamber. He produced the small key to Calum's heavy steel collar and unlocked it, handing it off to a servant. The leash he coiled and set aside. "You won't wear that unless you're being punished for disobedience. It doesn't suit you in any case. When you are not called to my chambers, you will reside with the rest of my personal slaves. You answer only to my wife and I - not to the children, not to the guard, and not to the other servants. I permit my slaves to amuse themselves among each other, but you are not to allow anyone else to touch you. Can you read?"

Calum shook his head slowly. "It wasn't necessary for me to learn."

Jibran waved this aside. "You may learn if you wish. My other slaves will teach you, if not my wife - she has a fondness for caring for the household slaves."

"Thank you, master." Calum dropped his eyes back down to his feet. "I would like to learn, I think."

A small smile tugged at Jibran's mouth. This combination of hesitance and naive forwardness was quite charming. Jibran inspected the slight chafing around his throat for any sign of scars he hadn't found in the slave market. Once again, luck was with him. Allowed to rest from the heavy steel collar, the chafed skin would heal none the worse for wear.

Jibran stripped as the servants filled the large bath. Many slave owners sent new purchases away at this juncture, to be made ready for their pleasure without having to expend effort on the process. Jibran had done the same in the past, when he acquired a boy that was already trained. Calum, on the other hand, needed personal attention and close contact. Jibran needed to establish himself as a preferable alternative to anything else Calum might have been sold for - men who preferred willful slaves to break, women who enjoyed humiliating castrati for their condition, or labor if he could not be sold for pleasure. Jibran was the only thing standing between him and a very unforgiving life, and it was essential that he solidify that in Calum's mind before he got any rebellious ideas.

Calum's eyes flicked to him periodically, watching him undress, sweeping over the dark hair on his chest and belly. Jibran watched that gaze linger on his muscled thighs and between his legs, amused to see the blush return in force. He knew he was likely better to look at than anyone Calum had been expecting. He was on the late side of his thirties, now, and was beginning to acquire some padding around his middle that he had not carried in younger days, but his chest was still broad and sturdy, his hair still mostly black and not grey. His wife, who looked on men with the same indifference as he looked on women, had judged him handsome in his youth. By the look of Calum's wandering eye, the boy was beginning to appreciate that he could have done much worse.

Jibran closed his hand around the nape of Calum's neck again, and Calum let Jibran steer him into the bath. The water was cool and scented, and Calum let out a small gasp of surprise as he stepped into it. Jibran waved the servants out, stepping into the bath behind his slave and pulling them both down. He settled Calum between his legs, pulling the boy back to recline against his chest. Calum's narrow hips fit perfectly against his.

Calum was tense against him, especially as Jibran's hands began to roam over his slave's body, cupping the cool water and pouring it over Calum. His skin was mostly smooth, but Jibran nevertheless encountered small, raised scars where none would be present on a pleasure slave raised from birth. He lifted Calum's arm free of the water, turning it to follow the thin line of a scar around the curve of his bicep. Jibran took Calum's hand in his, feeling his smooth palm, then pulled him up higher in his lap, encouraging Calum to bend his knee so he could feel along the soles of his feet. No lash marks - they were popular sites for the cane or the lash if a slave couldn't be left with obvious marks.

The longer the inspection went on, the more tension built in Calum's shoulders. Jibran resettled Calum in his lap, pulling the boy back against him as he leaned against the edge of the tub. He could just barely see Calum's face at this angle. The line between his brows had returned - the same worried look he'd had when he realized Jibran was buying him in the market. "Something concerns you," Jibran said.

"I'm sorry I'm not unmarked," Calum said, with the rushed air of someone who wasn't certain he wouldn't be punished for saying so.

"I didn't expect you to be, with your early life spent in gladiator training." Jibran didn't mind the scars. They were nearly all old. "When did they decide you weren't going to be a fighter?"

"Little more than a year ago." Calum's hand drifted through the water. He wouldn't look at Jibran, his head ducked down and his hair falling in his face. "They thought I might stay on - not as a gladiator, but as a weapons boy."

"They don't usually geld the weapons boys."

Calum's mouth tightened. Jibran watched him curiously - there was anger in the jump of the muscle in his jaw, and in the way his fingers curled into his palm. Then he seemed to shunt it aside, making the same harsh sound through his nose that he'd made before. Jibran wondered if he'd been left in the muzzle more often than not. "I'm nearly as worthless a weapons boy as I am a gladiator. Master- my old master- said I might do better in a bedchamber, where I would be unlikely to fall on a sword and waste his investment."

The wry humor in the boy's voice surprised a bark of laughter from Jibran. His hand went to Calum's hair, fingers pushing through the strands before he remembered how covered in sweat and dirt he was. "Deep breath," Jibran said, waiting for Calum to comply before pushing the slave down into the water. 

The response was immediate and unexpected - Calum thrashed, arching against Jibran's hands, and Jibran pulled him up out of the water before any of those gawky, flailing limbs could catch him in the nose. Calum gasped for air like he'd been drowned, though Jibran knew he had taken a breath, and dashed the water out of his eyes. 

Jibran slipped his hand around the back of the slave's neck and squeezed. "Shh, it was only for your hair. You're filthy, and your coloring will show much better once you're clean."

It calmed some of the heaving in Calum's chest. "Yes, master." His voice was trembling and raspy.

"Did they force you underwater?"

The line of Calum's back went stiff, and he half-turned against Jibran's chest so he could look at him out of the corner of his eye. "My old master wouldn't let the gladiators fight amongst each other, and he would punish them if they left marks on us. So the larger boys, they would hold us underwater until- until we thought-" he shuddered, and Jibran caught his shaking hands, pulling him back into the tight circle of his arms. He pressed his lips against the crown of Calum's head and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down the boy's arms.

"I didn't know." This wouldn't do - a large part of the personal contact was meant to win Calum's trust, and to make him feel safe. "I'll not do that again. The servants will have instructions not to duck you under if they're ordered to bathe you."

Calum's lip was between his teeth again, growing puffy and pinker as he chewed on it. Despite the scare that had driven him there, Jibran couldn't feel bad about the way Calum was now curled up in his arms. Their conversation before had been enlightening, but if he let Calum's tongue get away from him too often, it would set an unfortunate precedent. This, by comparison - Calum's smooth back pressed against his chest, his hips settled between Jibran's thighs - was a much better use of their time. Jibran's cock was starting to stiffen, but he ignored it for the moment, continuing to run his hands over Calum's body, stroking his fingers through the boy's hair, gently cleaning him of grime.

"Master? Why-" Calum stopped, fidgeting, his fingers twisting together.

Jibran rubbed the pads of his fingers over Calum's scalp, nails scraping gently. "Ask your question."

"Why are you so kind to me? I was wrong-whelped and I'm too old to be a true pleasure boy, and you're wealthy enough to afford better, and-"

"Hush," Jibran said, with a reprimanding tug on Calum's hair. "I can see why you were kept muzzled. You talk far too much for any properly trained slave."

"Sorry, master," Calum murmured, and Jibran huffed in exasperation. He really couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I purchased you because I find you beautiful." Jibran resumed the motions of his fingers in Calum's hair, gratified to feel the slave arch into the touch and squirm in his lap. "I believe you're worth more in my bed than you ever could be as a bower slave. I must stay faithful in my marriage, and therefore men are barred to me, lest I dishonor my wife. But a slave like you, cut and kept on that cusp between boy and man, the perfect in-between..." Jibran slipped his fingers out of his slave's hair, trailing them down his body to the insides of his thighs. He lifted, parting Calum's legs, forcing him to straddle Jibran's spread knees. He cupped the slave's small, soft cock in his palm and pushed his fingers between the crease of his buttocks, rubbing his fingertips over Calum's virgin hole. "And untouched? You're priceless, and that fool of a slaver I bought you from would have sold you to the docks for pittance."

Calum was bright red again, his lip caught between his teeth. His hands were locked tight on his own thighs, his eyes squeezed shut, and his hips made little jolting motions like he just couldn't help himself. Jibran rubbed with the heel of his hand, fascinated with the way Calum squirmed at the pressure. It seemed he couldn't get hard, but still had a remarkable amount of sensitivity in his cock. Jibran pressed with one finger, rubbing patiently over Calum's hole until the very tip breached him.

"Oh-" Calum's words devolved into a strangled noise as Jibran kept pressing, slow but relentless. The boy was tight and soft inside, and he made a confused sound like a cross between a moan and a question as Jibran worked the heel of his hand against Calum's limp cock. "Master-" Calum's voice sounded nearly panicked now, and Jibran took a long breath through his nose, trying to quell the rush of lust surging through him. It was too soon, and it would be a waste to get impatient at this stage.

He pulled his finger free of Calum's body and gave his soft cock a soothing stroke, drawing his hands over the light, soft hair on the insides of the slave's thighs. Jibran ran his fingers over every inch of Calum's pale skin, holding the boy as his breathing evened out and he relaxed into the treatment. Calum grew gradually more pliant in Jibran's hands until he began subtly leaning into the touch. Jibran wondered if the boy knew he was doing it, or if it was unconscious. Likely the latter. Jibran didn't imagine he'd had much opportunity for intimate contact among the gladiators-in-training, not with the slaver keeping such a close eye on his property.

When Jibran finally drew him out of the bath, his green eyes had a hazy, sleepy cast and he was lightly flushed from his cheekbones to his nipples. Jibran gently patted his skin dry, and Calum allowed his body to be turned and maneuvered, not putting up any resistance even when Jibran forced him to bend at the waist to dry between his thighs, cupping Calum's limp cock again and swiping the cloth gently over his hole.

"Do I need to put the leash back on you, or will you behave yourself?"

"No, master - I'll be good." Calum shuffled his bare feet against the tile, head bowed between his arms as he braced his hands on the tub.

"Come, then. Let's see what the servants have brought you to wear."

Jibran didn't think he would ever get tired of seeing that pale, freckled skin blush red. Calum's hair was damp and sticking up in all directions, but already brighter than it had been covered in dirt. Jibran tugged on a fresh robe, and Calum padded out of the bathing chamber behind him on bare feet.

Small piles of transparent silks, fine gold chain, and delicate jewelry lay spread out across the low table at the foot of the bed. A servant waited patiently to take back what Jibran didn't choose. Jibran tugged Calum forward and positioned him to stand at the foot of the bed, considering.

"Fetch what the kitchens have prepared," Jibran said to the servant, who bowed and left without comment. He reached for one of the soft piles of gauzy silk, a delicate shade of yellow with tourmaline chips worked along the waistband. Jibran held it up against Calum's skin, clicking his tongue. The yellow was the wrong shade to complement Calum's coppery hair. He tossed it aside and reached for another. "You're right in between a gold and a true red. Difficult to match."

"Sorry, master."

"It wasn't a reprimand. You're unique - it's the one thing your former master said about you that I agree with." Calum's eyes were fixed on his feet, his head bowed and his damp hair falling in his face, but Jibran saw him smile shyly nevertheless. He picked up another piece, this one a dark wine-red, and discarded it immediately. The bold color washed him out. 

A curiosity was tickling at the back of Jibran's mind, and he judged now to be a fruitful time to ask, while Calum was compliant and seemed inclined to speak to him without being forced to. "Most of my pleasure slaves are trained to it from a young age, but since they're also gelded as small boys, the concept of sexual desire is rather foreign to them. I assume that since you were cut late, that isn't the case with you."

Calum's light flush deepened. His hands moved to cover himself, the first indication of any body shyness. It was endearing. Calum seemed to be struggling for the right words, his throat working. He fidgeted in place, toes curling against the floor. Finally, he said, "The desire didn't go away. Only the function." He glanced up at Jibran and amended, "Master," almost as an afterthought.

"You're upset," Jibran observed. He put down the piece he'd been considering and closed his hands around Calum's wrists, drawing them away from his cock. There was more resistance in Calum's limbs than he'd exhibited before. "Surely you've had adequate time to come to terms with it. The scar is healed well enough to be months old."

Calum's mouth tightened. "I doubt you would say the same thing if it were you."

Jibran grabbed his jaw and forced his head up none too gently. Calum avoided his eyes. "Look at me," Jibran said, stern, tightening his grip. Reluctantly, Calum raised his gaze. " _That_ was impudence. What I would think in your position is irrelevant - I'm not in your position. I understand your feelings about the matter may be complex, but you will mind your tone with me. And you will answer my questions."

Calum stared at him, lips pressed tightly together in the same flash of anger Jibran had seen from him in the bath. Just as before, he took a long breath and forced it away. "Yes, master."

When Jibran released him, there were reddened imprints of fingers on his jaw. Jibran touched his fingertips to them gently. "You mark easily," he mused, then returned to his prior line of questioning. "Was it the gladiators that turned your head, before? Did you hope your master would not watch you as closely as he did?"

This brought the red blush back to Calum's face. "I- yes. Sometimes. They used to talk."

"Oh?" Jibran discarded another possible choice - it had looked well against Calum's skin tone before, but with that red in his cheeks it was all the wrong shade.

Calum's throat bobbed in a swallow, like he was working up his courage. Jibran wondered how he'd managed to stay so shy surrounded by that rough company. "They would often talk of what they would do with me, if they were free men and could buy me. How much they would enjoy it."

"Vulgar," Jibran said, distaste coloring his tone. "I will be direct in my orders, but I won't seek to shame you with crudity. I value my possessions, when they are valuable."

"Thank you, master." Calum's voice was barely above a whisper, and he looked like his face might set aflame if Jibran kept going any longer.

Jibran tilted his head at a handful of pale green silk. "Look at me," he said, holding it up against Calum's face. Calum raised his pale green gaze, and Jibran hummed thoughtfully. "This one. Perfect match to those beautiful eyes."

Calum's fingers closed around the silk, and he moved to dress without further prompting. The translucent bloomers were closed at the ankles with embroidered cuffs, and entirely open along the crotch, held up by a narrow band that clung to Calum's bony hips. Jibran picked through the pile of jewelry and drew out a lighter, more pleasing piece than the collar Calum had arrived in. Vertical rows of white gold inset with pale green gems were connected with thin strands of gold chain, coming to meet around a small gold ring in the center. It rested in the hollow of Calum's throat, the chain spilling along his delicate collarbones. There were matching bracelets for the collar. The pieces were too flimsy to truly restrain someone, but that wasn't necessarily the point - Jibran was of the mind that there were better ways to encourage obedience than brute force.

"These are quite delicate, and very expensive," Jibran said. "The set together may well be worth as much as you are." Calum looked down at his wrists, twisting them to look at the cuffs with trepidation. Jibran pulled at the ring on the front of the collar, and his lips curled into a smile when Calum stepped into the barest whisper of pressure around his neck, for fear of damaging the piece. "Very good."

The servants returned with a tray and swept aside the rest of the gauzy piles of silk, setting it on the table in their place. Jibran caught Calum watching them through his lashes as they bustled around the room, pulling out plush cushions to arrange on the floor beside the table, setting out the wine, packing away the jewelry. 

Jibran still had the collar's ring held delicately between his fingers. He tugged down, just a little, and Calum folded to his knees. It wasn't a particularly graceful move, but Jibran appreciated the responsiveness. Grace could come later - although, as he'd observed of Calum so far, perhaps grace would take some years yet. He judged that Calum needed some time still to grow into the length of his limbs and master the center of his balance. It was likely why he'd done so poorly as a fighter.

He settled down onto the cushions beside Calum and tugged the boy down to lie with his head in Jibran's lap. He stroked his hand down Calum's side, fingers lingering on the prominent bones of his ribs, then removed the cover from the tray. The kitchens had put together a suitable mid-afternoon arrangement; roast almonds and caramelized peanuts, thin slices of cheese, olives, sesame and raisin fekkas, and stuffed dates from their own orchard. "I imagine you weren't given much opportunity for indulgence with the man I bought you from." Jibran selected an olive and pressed it against Calum's lips. "Open."

Calum obediently parted his lips, letting Jibran push the olive into his mouth. Jibran was pleased to see he had the manners to chew and swallow before thanking him quietly. He had a subdued look to him, as if reminded that he wasn't poorly off here by any stretch of the imagination. Jibran fed him a slice of cheese next, then threaded his fingers through Calum's hair again as he poured wine with his other hand. With gentle but urgent pulls on the boy's hair, he had Calum half draped over his lap, propped up enough to take sips from the goblet and morsels from his fingertips.

Jibran's eyes lingered over the way the gold looked on Calum's skin. His blush had faded enough that his cinnamon freckles stood out sharply again, even with the light pink of a mild sunburn from the market. Every now and again, Calum's lips closed around Jibran's fingers as well as the food. Once, his tongue flicked over the tip of Jibran's finger, and Jibran smiled slowly at him, wordlessly pleased. He drew his thumb down over the line of Calum's jaw, stroking over where his pulse beat in his throat. He flattened his palm over Calum's breastbone, thumb circling one of his nipples.

He watched it stiffen under the pad of his thumb, trailing his fingertips across Calum's chest to the other, tweaking it and then swiping over it with the pad of his thumb. Calum gasped, his head tipping back against Jibran's chest, his throat exposed, his eyes sliding shut. Jibran nudged his bottom lip with the goblet and he obediently tilted forward for another sip. It looked to be affecting him rather quickly, a cloudy look coming into his eyes. It would help, no doubt.

As if on cue, a light knock sounded at the door to Jibran's quarters. Calum jolted in his lap, startled, but he gentled quickly enough when Jibran shushed him. "Come."

The surgeon entered, his instrument case in one hand. He was an elderly man, stooped and grey of beard, most of his hair already gone. He bowed to Jibran. "You sent for me?"

"Yes - I've acquired a new pleasure slave, and I'd like to make sure he's in good health." Jibran beckoned, keeping a firm hand in the center of Calum's chest to hold him pinned in place. He had frozen like a startled rabbit when the surgeon entered, and now his breathing quickened as the man approached. Jibran rubbed small circles in the center of his chest and pressed his lips to the top of Calum's head, soothing him. "Do as the surgeon says, and don't fight."

The surgeon settled beside them, snapping open his instrument case. Calum flinched when the surgeon's hands settled on his knees, drawing his legs apart until he was exposed. His eyes were squeezed firmly shut, his jaw tight, and Jibran had a moment's thought that his gelding might have left him with a bad impression of surgeons, which this encounter might reinforce. He felt a small twinge of regret, but it passed.

"He's healed perfectly here," the surgeon said. Jibran couldn't see what he was doing from this position, but from the way Calum's whole body was flinching, he had to be prodding at the castration scar. "Still a little pink, but that will fade in another couple months. The scar will hardly be visible when he's fully healed."

"Good," Jibran said, directing it more into Calum's ear than at the surgeon. He urged another couple swallows of wine down Calum's throat, then looked up at the surgeon. "He's healthy, then?"

"He could stand to gain a couple stone," the surgeon answered. "Other than that, yes. Do you want him pierced, while I'm here?"

"Both nipples, I think." Jibran ignored the way Calum's eyes flew open at that and dragged his hand down Calum's belly to close around his cock, thumbing at the small head. "We'll have this done later. I do want his cock pierced, but not so soon." Jibran wanted to be able to touch him, and a cock piercing would take some months to fully heal.

"Master?" Calum's voice wavered, and the surgeon raised his eyebrows. Jibran's slaves were usually better trained than to speak out of turn. Jibran clicked his tongue.

"You look beautiful in gold, and I enjoy decorating my things. Here - more wine will help dull the pain." He tipped the goblet to Calum's mouth again, turning his face away from the surgeon so he couldn't look at the size of the needle the man had produced from the bag. "Keep your eyes on me. If you're good this will all be over in a few moments."

"Please-" Calum tensed, and for the first time since Jibran had brought him into the chamber, he truly resisted, trying to sit up out of Jibran's lap. Jibran's hand moved lightning quick, closing around Calum's fine collar. Calum froze at it, torn between fear of the pain from the surgeon and fear of breaking the collar and angering Jibran.

"If you speak out of turn again I will put you back in the muzzle," he said. Calum's eyes went wide at that, his mouth twisting in pure distaste - Jibran was glad he guessed correctly, that the muzzle was something Calum particularly hated. Calum sucked his lip in his mouth, his teeth digging into the skin, and didn't say another word of protest. "Lie back and let the surgeon do his work."

Slowly, reluctantly, Calum settled back against Jibran's chest. His eyes found a point on the ceiling and fixed there, refusing to look at either Jibran or the surgeon. The man plucked at one of Calum's nipples, pulling it into a pink peak, and Calum tensed all over, biting almost savagely at his lip. Jibran set down the goblet and cupped Calum's jaw, forcing his thumb between Calum's teeth to pull his lip free. "You'll hurt yourself," he said quietly. "Hold my hand and take a deep breath."

Calum threaded his fingers through Jibran's other hand and gripped tightly. His gaze jumped away from the ceiling to look at Jibran with an expression of such pleading that Jibran almost relented. He looked so exquisitely helpless like this, with Jibran's hand cupping his jaw, thumb pressed over his mouth.

He would look even better with the jewelry. Jibran nodded to the surgeon. "Quickly, if you please, before he has time to grow too distressed."

The surgeon grunted, a sound that managed to convey what he thought of Jibran's doting on his new slave while staying just on the right side of respectful. He set needle against Calum's nipple, steadying it only for a second there before he stabbed through.

A muffled sound of agony climbed out of Calum's throat. He clutched at Jibran's hand tight enough to rob the fingers of feeling, a shudder going through him - but he didn't pull back or jerk away, either of which could have torn the needle out and done him much further harm. The surgeon methodically rotated the needle, ensuring it would slide out cleanly, then quickly replaced it with a thin gold ring.

"That's one, there we are. It looks beautiful - you're doing well, Calum, you barely even flinched. Gorgeous boy. I knew you could take it. Shh, here's the other. Hold still."

The sound Calum made this time was more like a ragged scream of endurance, the kind Jibran had heard men make when they were wounded. Jibran murmured softly in his ear, stroking his hair, passing his thumb over his bitten bottom lip. The surgeon finished exchanging the needle for another ring and looked up at Jibran with raised eyebrows, an expression that was reluctantly impressed. It had only been a moment, and two perfect gold rings sat in Calum's puffy, reddened nipples. Blood welled from the piercing sites, dabbed away expertly by the surgeon. Calum flinched at every touch, but he was trying so hard to hold himself in place that he trembled, still squeezing Jibran's hand.

"You'll need to take care not to disturb the piercing sites excessively while they heal," the surgeon said, in a tone close to admonishment - especially when Jibran's free hand trailed down Calum's throat to his chest, his thumb pressing at the pectoral just below his swollen nipple.

"Of course. "

The surgeon unscrewed a small jar of ointment. A pungent scent filled the room. He coated his fingers in the ointment and touched it to the piercing sites. Calum twitched away, but he didn't struggle any further. His eyes were wet at the corners, but he wasn't truly crying. Jibran was just as impressed as the surgeon - some of his slaves had outright sobbed when they were pierced, or pleaded much more wretchedly than Calum had done. 

Jibran attempted to extract his hand from the death grip Calum had on it. He dismissed the surgeon with a word of praise for a job done efficiently and without unnecessary pain. The man bowed and took his leave silently, the door clicking shut behind him. Calum's breathing was beginning to even out, and his jaw unlocked, eyes blinking open slowly. Jibran dabbed away a stray tear that had escaped the corner of his eye. "We'll wait to have your cock done until you've settled in some."

Calum opened his mouth and took a breath like he was going to speak, then let it out slowly, perhaps thinking better of giving an angry retort. He looked down at his chest, one hand hovering over a newly-pierced nipple. The gold rings winked against his pale chest.

"You can speak now, if you'd like." Jibran stroked his fingers through Calum's hair. "That wasn't so bad, was it? You took it wonderfully."

"Not as bad as having my arm laid open on a practice blade." Calum's voice was rough. "Or having the surgeon stitch it after." He cleared his throat and touched the swollen area around the piercing gently.

"Was that what this one is from?" Jibran ran his fingertips over the scar on Calum's bicep, and he nodded. "No, I can't imagine that would have been pleasant. As for these-" he brushed his thumb along the bottom of one nipple, and Calum hissed through his teeth, "-the soreness will stop in a few weeks' time, though it will be some months before they're fully healed."

"Yes, master." Calum was still looking down at his chest, prodding at the sore areas and flinching every time he touched. Jibran caught his hands and pulled them down into his lap.

"Stop fussing, you'll make it worse. More wine will help."

Calum gulped at the wine eagerly, finally draining the goblet. Jibran set it aside and stood, drawing Calum to his feet. His hair was nearly dry now, its true coppery color shining through at last. The delicate cuffs at his wrist and the collar around his throat complemented his pale skin, and the silk of his bloomers clung to him as he moved. Jibran let his gaze travel over Calum slowly, a proprietary pride welling up in him.

"Exquisite," Jibran said, smiling as he admired his new slave, draped in finery. "Think only how much more lovely you'll look, when those have healed, and this as well." Jibran stepped up to him, one hand spreading across the small of his back and the other going to his cock, covering it with his palm as he'd done in the bath. "You look so well in gold, just as I thought you would when I first saw you in the market. The chain is so fine against your skin it looks a part of you. I want to see it everywhere." Calum flushed again, and Jibran smiled slowly. "You've never had a man inside you, truly?"

"No, master." Calum looked up at Jibran through his lashes.

"What about in your mouth?" Jibran's eyes were fixed on Calum's lips, pink and tempting.

"No, master. I'm sorry I-"

"Hush. It's why I bought you, after all," Jibran said, heading whatever the boy was about to say off before he could begin. He was starting to see that his new slave had a distressing habit of talking down on himself. Jibran would have to explain the concept of insulting the master's taste. Eventually. "I'll teach you all that you need to know to please me. Kneel."

Calum looked up at him, eyes wide, and hesitated. "Master-"

"You knew what I purchased you for," Jibran said. "Do you think I'll suddenly be cruel with you now that I'm getting what I want?"

"No, I-" Calum's fingers twisted together nervously, making the fine chains on his wrists chime. "I only- I've never..." he pressed his lips together and huffed through his nose again. Jibran was beginning to find the gesture endearing. "Will you please kiss me first?"

Oh, Jibran thought, utterly charmed. "Of course." He cupped Calum's jaw and tipped his head up. Calum's eyes slipped closed, his lips parted, and Jibran leaned in and took that lovely pink mouth with his own. Calum's lips were soft, and his small, shocked inhale made Jibran's pulse beat harder. Jibran flicked his tongue over Calum's lips and dipped it into his mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of the wine. He was so beautifully yielding, even with that stubborn streak of his.

When Jibran drew away from him, the hazy look he'd had in the bath was back in his eyes. Jibran brushed his thumb over Calum's lower lip, still swollen from where he'd bitten it earlier and now even more puffy from the kiss. "Was that your first kiss?"

"Yes, master," Calum said, breathy and grateful. His fingers drifted up to his lips, brushing against Jibran's thumb, almost like he couldn't quite believe his request had been granted so simply. He smiled, then, and Jibran's breath caught. He was beautiful already, but that sweet, shy expression was simply gorgeous. Jibran kissed him again, unable to resist, one hand still cupping his jaw and the other resting at the small of his back. Calum made a soft, surprised sound into his mouth, and Jibran had to draw back before he got too carried away.

"Down," he said roughly, his cock beginning to ache in his robes.

Calum sank slowly to his knees, wincing only a little as he settled on the hard floor. Jibran took a moment to examine his posture. He nudged Calum's knees further apart with the toe of his slipper, guided Calum's hands behind his back and showed him how to clasp his wrists, ran a hand up Calum's spine to force the slave to straighten his back.

"Your balance is good," he said, pacing around Calum, watching his muscles tense in an effort to keep the position. "You have quite a bit of discipline over your movements - when your height isn't getting away from you. I suspect you'll grow into that lankiness before long."

Jibran was beginning to suspect the boy was just starved for positive attention, having been told all his life he was wrong and worthless. Calum moved however he was directed almost before Jibran touched him, anticipating the direction easily. When Jibran put a finger under his chin and tipped his head up, he saw that some of the wariness had gone from Calum's expression.

"Open your mouth."

Calum swallowed hard before he followed the order. He looked straight up at Jibran, mouth open far enough that Jibran could see the pink surface of his tongue. Jibran laid his thumb on Calum's tongue and pulled it open wider. "I'm going to put my cock in your mouth," Jibran said calmly, watching Calum's eyes flick through his emotions - the boy's face was completely unguarded, flashing through surprise and determination in quick succession.

Jibran unbuttoned the lower half of his robe one-handed, pulling his cock out. He stroked it slowly with his free hand, tugging Calum forward with the grip on his jaw. "Keep your mouth open like that." Calum's skin was so pale next to Jibran's, his lips pink and glistening with saliva. Jibran rubbed the head of his cock over those lips, then pushed it into Calum's mouth. His tongue was plush and warm. "Good," Jibran breathed, pushing gentle fingers into Calum's hair.

Calum was still staring up at him, a furrow of pinched skin between his brows. Jibran shifted his hand until he could stroke away that line of worry. "Just relax. Keep your mouth open for me, we'll start slow." Jibran tugged Calum forward, encouraging him to take it in deeper. "Keep your tongue flat, and put your lips around your teeth." Calum's tongue fluttered against the bottom of Jibran's cock as he obeyed, relaxing into Jibran's hold on him.

Jibran rocked gently in and out of Calum's mouth, not yet pushing into his throat, smoothing his fingers over the boy's hair. Calum started to suck a little, sloppily but with enthusiasm, taking more of Jibran's cock without prompting. It felt exquisite. "That's good." Jibran dropped his hand to the back of Calum's neck. "I'm going to go a little deeper now. Swallow as I push in."

He pushed with his hips, his cock sinking into Calum's warm, wet mouth. The head of it brushed the very back of Calum's tongue, against the soft tissue at the opening to his throat, and he choked, gagging a little, squirming against Jibran's grip on his neck.

"Swallow," Jibran reminded him, squeezing tight on the back of Calum's neck. He kept his hips perfectly still, waiting until Calum gagged again and was finally able to make his throat cooperate, swallowing around the head of Jibran's cock. "There it is, good." He rocked his hips back and then pushed forward again, listening to Calum gag and choke and swallow wetly. "You'll get it. You're doing well, for the first time. Relax and let your throat open for it."

Calum was twisting in Jibran's grasp, but he wasn't truly struggling to escape and he kept his mouth open wide. He was trying so hard to be good, and that made Jibran's cock twitch on the surface of Calum's tongue. Jibran pushed in a little further this time, the head of his cock pushing into Calum's throat. Calum struggled to swallow around it, his face reddened and his eyes tearing up, wetness running down his cheeks. Jibran pulled back, dashing the moisture away from the corners of Calum's eyes with the pad of his thumb. Calum gazed up at him, pink lips stretched wide over Jibran's cock, his beautiful green eyes glassy, tiny droplets clinging to his pale lashes.

Jibran's thumb dropped to the stretched circle of Calum's lips, tracing around them. His hips moved only slightly now, rubbing the head of his cock over Calum's tongue before pushing back down his throat again. This time, Calum swallowed convulsively and didn't choke. "There we are," Jibran said, stroking Calum's cheek where it was hollowed from sucking. "That's better."

Jibran was tempted to use Calum's mouth until he found his peak, spilling into the slave's throat and watching that pale column struggle to swallow it all down. Maybe another time - for now, he felt he couldn't wait any longer to see how Calum would respond to being touched and taken.

He pulled free of Calum's mouth, long strands of saliva stretching from the head of his cock to the boy's lips. Calum's tongue darted out to lick his lips, and one of the strands snapped, landing wetly on his chin. Jibran tugged at the delicate ring on the front of Calum's collar, gratified when the boy rose to his feet at the barest direction. "Very good. You're a fast learner - I'll have you trained to take all of me in your mouth quite soon."

Calum's face reddened again, but there was something relieved in his eyes. Jibran supposed he would be nervous, too, as a first-time bed slave who was older than the usual crop. The nervousness was endearing - and also refreshing. Jibran's bed slaves were all trained to it, and there was a certain veneer of falsehood under their coquettish mannerisms. Here, it was all Calum. He was truly a find in a million.

"Are you frightened?" Jibran settled his hands on Calum's waist, thumbs brushing the jeweled waistband of the bloomers.

"No." Calum's smile was tentative and shy, but Jibran couldn't detect any sign that he was lying or trying to put up a brave front.

"No?" Jibran didn't wait for an answer, but kissed him again, tasting himself in Calum's mouth. When he drew away, Calum's eyes were a bit dazed.

"I don't..." Calum trailed off, shook his head a little, and tried again. "I think I could do well here. If I please you."

"You do please me," Jibran said. A content satisfaction uncurled in his chest at Calum's words. "On the bed, now."

Calum was a little too nervous to move gracefully, and clearly expected Jibran to be more impatient than he was - he crawled onto the bed on all fours, resting on his knees and elbows, head bowed between his arms. Jibran's eyes tracked over him as he removed his own clothes, leaving them in a heap beside the bed. The freckles across Calum's shoulders faded to a bare scattering down his back, and then it was all pale, creamy skin from his lower back down the curve of his ass. A light dusting of copper-colored hair began around the base of his cock and trailed down the insides of his thighs.

Jibran settled a hand on the back of Calum's neck, crawling onto the bed behind him, and stroked down the line of his spine. "On your back - I want to see your face."

It was fascinating to watch the blush creep up the back of Calum's neck. He dutifully turned over, hands fidgeting in the bedclothes like he wasn't sure where to put them. Jibran took hold of the fine chains around his wrists and gently drew his hands up above his head. He nudged Calum's legs apart with one of his knees, settling atop him. Calum's throat bobbed in another nervous swallow, and Jibran leaned down to capture his mouth again, kissing him slow and easy. Calum's skin was smooth against his, and Jibran's cock nudged against Calum's soft, limp prick. Calum made a small, surprised sound into the kiss that set Jibran's pulse pounding faster. "Let me hear you," he murmured into Calum's mouth, then kissed him again. He was so earnest and yielding, and seemed not to have expected any of this to feel good. Jibran was looking forward to showing him differently.

Calum made plenty of noise now, like he had only been waiting for Jibran's permission - when Jibran finally released his mouth and tipped his chin up to begin kissing along his throat, Calum's eyes slid shut and his lips parted on short moans of pleasure. Jibran's hands roamed, stroking over Calum's skin in idle caresses. It was more difficult than he thought it would be to avoid touching Calum's nipples - they were still puffy and swollen from the piercing, clearly tender to the touch, but the rings looked so tempting. Jibran flicked gently at one and Calum jerked, his eyes flying wide, hissing in pain between his teeth. Jibran shushed him, shifting down the bed to kiss at the tender skin surrounding the piercings.

"Master," Calum gasped, squirming at his touch. Jibran looked up at his face - he was chewing his lip, his brows drawn together, that wrinkle of worry between them again.

"I'll leave them alone - they only look so lovely on you, I couldn't resist." Jibran smiled and scooted lower, dragging his lips and his tongue across all the smooth, pale skin his fingers had touched in the bath. Calum's waist was trim and his stomach flat, the muscles toned but not sharply defined. Jibran nipped at the firm surface before trailing still lower, sliding his hands underneath Calum's thighs to lift his knees, spreading him open wider.

He looked up the length of Calum's body to find him staring, green eyes wide and shocked, that fetching pink flush painted brightly over his cheeks. A smirk curled over Jibran's lips and he bent his head down to close his mouth over Calum's limp cock.

"Oh!" Calum's head fell back against the bed, his feet shifting against the bedclothes and his hips squirming, like he wasn't sure whether to push into the warm heat of Jibran's mouth or try and shift away. Jibran laved his tongue over the soft, tender skin and suckled gently, sliding his hands down Calum's thighs to cup his buttocks in both palms, the soft silk of the bloomers slipping between his hands and Calum's skin. He kneaded as he licked, again and again, listening to Calum's moans rise in pitch until they were nearly whines. 

Calum twisted his hips in Jibran's grasp, like he couldn't decide whether the touch was good or too much. The noises he made started to sound pained, like he was overwhelmed with the pleasure of it. Jibran slid one of his hands up to Calum's stomach, feeling it quiver under his palm. Calum's cock fit perfectly in his mouth, resting just on his tongue, and Jibran moaned himself when he thought of the lovely noises Calum would make when he was pierced there, and Jibran could play with the head of his cock until he cried. 

He was nearing it now, his breaths beginning to sound ragged, and when Jibran hollowed his cheeks and sucked more firmly he broke and began to babble. "I- Master, oh, please- I can't- I can't-" Calum broke off with a strangled sound of frustration that sounded like a sob.

Jibran let the limp cock slip from between his lips and kissed soothingly at the juncture of Calum's thighs. "Shh, you can, I'll show you." He spread the pale cheeks of Calum's ass with both hands and lowered his mouth again, this time to the castration scar, pressing his tongue flat against it and licking firmly. Calum cried out, heels kicking at the sheets. Jibran closed his mouth around the scar and sucked ever so gently, wringing a desperate shout from him.

"It," Calum gasped, finally rolling his hips to press back into Jibran's mouth. "It feels _good_." He sounded so shocked that Jibran had to pull away and look. His mouth was slack and open, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, and a light sheen of sweat had broken out over his forehead. His eyes were impossibly green, wide and nearly awed as he stared down at Jibran.

"It'll feel better before I'm done with you," Jibran said. "Did you think you wouldn't get anything out of this for yourself? I want to see you driven out of your mind with pleasure, and I will bring you there."

"I don't think I can..." Calum looked down at his cock, lying soft against his belly. The delicate skin of his inner thighs was reddened from the scrape of Jibran's beard, and his prick was wet with saliva. He looked a mess, flushed and disheveled, his lips slick and pink, his hands fisted tight in the bedclothes. 

"You might surprise yourself," Jibran said, amusement slipping into his voice. Before Calum could formulate an answer, he put his mouth back to the smooth patch of skin between Calum's cock and his hole, dragging his tongue across it once more before he licked still lower.

The sound Calum made when Jibran's tongue met his hole was indescribable. Jibran applied himself with vigor, broad strokes of his tongue over the twitching muscle, licking all the way to the scar and back down. His fingers dug into Calum's buttocks, holding him spread apart for his tongue. He pressed with the tip, trying to lick his way inside, but Calum was too tight to breach without more to slick the way than saliva. Jibran returned to flattening his tongue and licking firmly. Calum rocked his hips against Jibran's face, and when Jibran glanced up the length of his body, his eyes were screwed shut and his face was turned to the side, pushed into his arm, moans spilling from his lips at every touch of Jibran's tongue.

Jibran sat back, wiping his mouth, and had to call Calum's name twice before the boy's eyes fluttered open and he stared up at Jibran. "Beside you on the table, pass me that vial," Jibran said, suppressing another amused smile at the dumbfounded expression on his face. 

Calum fumbled, nearly knocking the glass vial off the bedside table before he passed it to Jibran and put his hands back over his head without prompting. Jibran unstoppered it, lifting one of Calum's knees to his shoulder and scooting in closer. He tipped the vial, sending a stream of oil dribbling over Calum's hole, then pressed his finger in gently. It was easier now than it had been in the bath, with Calum languid with pleasure and pushing into the touch almost eagerly.

Jibran pressed the heel of his hand against the castration scar, rocking his finger in and out of Calum's body. Calum had gone practically boneless, the knee that was not held up on Jibran's shoulder falling to the side, his face again pressed into his bicep and his mouth open on panting breaths. Jibran was generous with the oil and moved slowly, getting him used to the penetration. He took it beautifully - perhaps it was his desire to please, perhaps it was attraction to his master, or perhaps it was only a wish to know that he could still experience pleasure even after the gelding, but he pushed into Jibran's touch. He didn't even flinch when Jibran finally coated a second finger in oil and pushed it inside along the first.

When Jibran curled his fingers up, reaching for the base of Calum's cock from the inside, he let out a shocked cry and his eyes flew open to fix on Jibran again. "What was- oh!" The question cut off in another long moan when Jibran did it again. Jibran began circling his fingers over the sensitive knot of flesh inside, firm pressure on that spot that had Calum's moans increasing in pitch until they were nearly whines. Calum was slick and soft, warm around Jibran's fingers. Jibran had to squeeze at the base of his own cock with his other hand, tugging at his balls to keep from simply tugging himself off and spilling all over Calum's gorgeous smooth stomach and his limp prick.

"Just relax." Jibran's voice was rough with desire, and he knew that his hunger likely showed on his face, but Calum was so lost in the sensations of his body that he had abandoned all his shyness. His back arched, his fingers twisted in the bedclothes, and he pushed back onto Jibran's fingers insistently, chasing his pleasure without any thought to how he might look. Jibran hitched Calum's thigh up higher on his shoulder so he could reach around and cup his small, soft cock in his palm, squeezing gently.

Calum let out a long wail, the muscles in his thighs tensing, and he tightened around Jibran's fingers. Jibran pressed hard against the pleasure spot inside him, rubbing insistently, and Calum's heel drummed against his back as he thrashed, fingers clawing at the bedclothes. "Please, please, please, master, please," he babbled, screwing his hips onto Jibran's fingers, and then his breath caught on a sob and his stomach tensed. Under Jibran's palm, a small stream of fluid dripped from the head of Calum's soft cock, clear and barely a thimbleful, nothing like true semen. Jibran circled his fingers again, pulling his hand away from Calum's cock so he could watch another drop of fluid well up at the slit and then drip slowly onto his stomach.

Jibran looked up to find Calum staring at the ceiling in something like shock, his skin tight over his ribs every time he sucked in a breath. His eyes were wet, tears spilling down his cheekbones, but he still pressed his hips into Jibran's touch - overwhelmed but still wanting. "There now," he said, watching Calum's eyes fall shut again as he kept massaging and pressed another dribble of fluid from him. "That's it."

Calum mouthed something, barely a whisper, too quiet for Jibran to catch. Jibran was too impatient to ask him to repeat it, his cock aching from the sight of Calum coming undone on his fingers. He finally relented the pressure on that spot inside Calum that made him tremble, instead easing another finger into his tight hole. Calum gave him another soft moan, tipping his hips up to take it, which was more than enough evidence for Jibran that he was ready.

"I'm going to take you now," he rasped, pulling his fingers free and tipping another generous palmful of oil onto his cock. Calum's eyes opened again, an eager light in them that only made him look more beautiful. Jibran lined the head of his cock up at Calum's slick hole and let his eyes travel over the picture the boy made, spread out on his sheets, dripping in gold finery, freckles all across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, his hair damp with sweat and curling against his forehead. Jibran ran his hands over Calum's smooth thighs, soft hair brushing against his palms, and then gripped his hips and pushed. The head of his cock met with some resistance despite the amount of time Jibran spent getting Calum loose and slick with his fingers, and when he finally pushed inside the grip of Calum's body around him was nearly unbearably tight.

Calum's eyebrows scrunched together and his jaw tightened - nearly the same expression of endurance he'd had when he was pierced, and Jibran forced himself to hold still until that wrinkle between his brows smoothed and his lips parted on a long, slow sigh. Jibran pushed into him achingly slow, biting the inside of his cheek to maintain his control, so tempted to simply pound into the lithe body below him and take his pleasure now that he'd given Calum a taste of what he could have at Jibran's hands.

"Please," Calum said, his voice breathy and eager, and that was enough for Jibran. He slid his hands from Calum's hips up his body, leaning down to cover the boy with his weight. Calum's back arched as the angle changed, the knee that was still hooked over Jibran's shoulder pushed nearly to his chest now. 

His head was tipped back, baring the tempting line of his throat encircled by the delicate collar. Jibran pressed his lips to the rapidly beating point of his pulse, then set his teeth there as well, mouthing across the unmarked skin and feeling Calum shudder and tighten around him. He groaned into Calum's skin and began to move his hips, pulling out ever so slowly before screwing back in. Calum moved with him, neither lying limp and passive or attempting to direct Jibran's movements, but eagerly accepting what he was given. 

Jibran could feel every moan and gasp through his lips, resting on Calum's throat. He pulled at Calum's arms, still above his head where Jibran had put them, and tugged until he could lace his fingers with Calum's. He kept his pace slow and steady, wanting to draw this out as long as possible for the both of them. Calum was wholly lost now, his eyes closed and his pale lashes fanning against his cheeks, clutching at Jibran's hands. Jibran would have liked to settle his weight down fully, feel their sweat-slicked skin drag together, but Calum's nipples were still painful from the piercing, reddened and swollen around their gold loops. Instead, he sucked at the creamy skin of Calum's neck above the collar, raising red marks of possession. 

Calum squirmed underneath him, tipping his hips up to meet Jibran's thrusts, and Jibran quickened his pace. Calum's knee slipped from his shoulder to his elbow, changing the angle yet again - now Jibran was fucking into him in just the right way to hit that spot inside him. Calum let out a shocked shout of pleasure and clenched down around him, almost painfully tight, grinding his soft cock against Jibran's stomach every time he pressed back against Jibran's thrusts. It was slick at the head, more clear fluid beading at the slit.

Jibran thrust harder just to hear him cry out, driving into that spot over and over again, lifting his head away from Calum's neck to watch his face. Calum's fingers were locked tight around Jibran's, his mouth was open on a stream of noise and choked pleas, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. He looked like he was pushed just to the edge of too much, tears slipping from beneath his lashes again. He opened his eyes, just a little, just enough for Jibran to see the dazed expression of awe in them. It was enough to send him tipping over the edge of orgasm, a long groan punched from his gut as he ground deep into Calum, his balls pulling tight and shooting a warm stream of come deep inside. Calum gasped like he felt it, and Jibran caught that swollen, pink lower lip between his teeth before kissing him slowly, riding out the high of his orgasm.

They stayed like that as Jibran's cock softened, kissing languidly, fingers still twined together. When Jibran finally slipped free of Calum's body, he untangled his hands from Calum's grip and eased himself out from between Calum's thighs. He reached down to Calum's cock, rubbing his thumb over the slick head, watching with rapt fascination as Calum squirmed, breath stuttering, like he wasn't sure if it was too much or not enough. He let his fingers drift lower to feel the wet drip of his come leaking from Calum's hole, gathered it up with his fingertips and pushed it back inside.

"Master," Calum gasped, twisting his hips. Jibran circled his fingertips against the button of flesh inside him and he whined. "Please, it's too much - I can't-"

"Shh, that's all right." Jibran slowly eased his fingers out, wiping the mess off on Calum's thigh. "I won't make you come again, I'm sure you're quite sensitive."

Calum laughed breathlessly. "I didn't even know I could _do_ that."

"I told you, your body will surprise you." Jibran settled onto the bed beside Calum, gathering him in close. He brushed the backs of his knuckles over Calum's damp cheeks. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Calum shook his head. "I don't know why..." he gestured vaguely at his face. "I never did when I got hurt, not like this."

"You were only overwhelmed," Jibran said. "Too much sensation - your body didn't know how to process it, so it found a way to release some of the emotion." He brushed the tears away and ran a gentle thumb along Calum's jaw. "You look even lovelier when you're debauched. I believe I'll need to have you like this quite often."

Calum's face reddened, and a smile snuck across his lips. He turned his face to press it into Jibran's chest, scooting in closer until the whole line of his body was tucked against Jibran's side. "I would... like that," he said, sounding honestly surprised at himself. There was also a heavy note of sleepiness in his voice that made Jibran smile in return.

"You'll sleep here with me, when I have you in my bed," he said. "You can now, if you wish." Jibran was unsurprised when Calum gave a soft murmur of thanks and closed his eyes. He was asleep in moments, drained from the experience and the long day. Jibran kissed the top of his head, lips lingering against the soft, bright strands of his hair. He would have Calum's cock pierced tomorrow - it would take a significant amount of time to heal, and that would be unfortunate, but he could control himself enough not to play with it, and a landscape of endless possibilities lay before them. Perhaps he could even introduce Calum to the fine art of mixing pain with pleasure - he had a high enough pain tolerance for it, and the livid purple bite marks around his throat gave Jibran the urge to see how he would mark with the stroke of a flogger, or a paddle.

He turned the fantasies over in his mind, tracing his fingers idly over Calum's skin, and luxuriated in the feeling of a warm body curled up against him. Calum breathed deeply and steadily in sleep, but cuddled closer as Jibran touched him, seeking contact even when he was unconscious. He was more than worth the money Jibran had spent, and Jibran looked forward to the long, intimate process of training him properly. He drifted away into sleep as well, full of contentment and satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Castration is mentioned but does not happen on-page. Non-consensual body modification tag is present for a brief scene describing nipple piercing which mentions blood in passing. Power imbalance tag is present due to master/slave dynamic. Muzzle tag is present due to slave character being muzzled at the beginning of the story but is not used during sex.


End file.
